Elements
by TruffleWings
Summary: Science is an integral part of Ema's life, and life is an integral part of science. So see life through science's eyes, with the elements of the periodic table. Not even glimmerous fops can escape chemistry's grasp! Klema.
1. Chapter 1

A/N I apologize for nitrogen ahead of time, because it is rather pointless. 

Disclaimer (I'm really skimped in including these in my stories, aren't I?): I do not own anything in the Ace Attorney series/ Gyakuten Saiban series. Or Ace Attorney Investigations/ Gyakuten Kenji. 

**Hydrogen**

Ema firmly plastered the giant poster over her desk, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Excellent.

"Hm… What is this, fräulein?"

She spun around, knowing _exactly_ to whom that infuriating tone belonged. "What do you think?" she snapped irritably. "It's the periodic table of elements."

Gavin was silent for a moment, then cocked his head. "Ja, I can see that. You do love your science, ja?"

"Of course," she said, and was about to shoot him a defiant glare when her love for science overshadowed her hate for fops. Instead, an unwilling smile tugged at her lips. "Science is really great! It doesn't lie, it doesn't hate, it isn't biased, and it's the most perfect, most irrefutable evidence in a case."

Klavier, astonished at her sudden change of mood at the very prospect of scientific investigation, was keen to keep her talking. "Ja, that is true," he said, as Ema's eyebrows traveled up her forehead. "It is very useful. It has, however, been a while since my last, say, chemistry lesson. Bitte, enlighten me… What exactly does hydrogen do?" he asked the first thing that came to mind, feigning ignorance.

"You glimmerous fop, not even knowing that," Ema replied, secretly skeptical that even Klavier didn't know the properties of the very first element. However, she was only too happy to answer, since it did, after all, have something to do with what was easily her favorite science: chemistry. "Well, to start, it's the lightest element in the periodic table. That's why it's the first one, see? Molecular mass."

"I see…"

"Prosecutor Gavin, there's someone here to see you." A young detective slid open the door and beckoned to Klavier, who nodded.

"I shall see you later, fräulein detective."

All Ema offered was a taciturn nod, and a low mutter. "I rather you didn't."

Unfortunately for Ema, she did see Klavier later that day. And unfortunately for Klavier, Ema was in an infinitely less charitable mood.

"What is the matter?" he questioned as she glared at him.

"Look. Just look. The stupid leak from the ceiling spoiled my periodic table while I was at my coffee break!"

The leak must have been enormous, for the poster had been entirely soaked until all but one element was readable. "At least hydrogen remains."

" 'At least hydrogen remains'? What about the other elements? What justice is this? Spoilt, all of them! And _hydrogen_ 'remains'… hydrogen isn't any better than the rest, why should it get preferential treatment? Why did the ceiling even have to pick on the others?" she ranted illogically.

"I may not know about that, but the sort of weightless, carefree feeling is rather pleasant." Klavier was recalling what Ema had told him about hydrogen being the lightest element in the periodic table.

"It's scientifically impossible to feel weightless," the detective rebutted irritably, spouting whatever came to mind, no matter how odd it might be. "And anyway, you should just say 'happy' or 'elated', instead of confusing people with superfluous phrases like that. And weightless carefree-ness has _nothing_ to do with hydrogen at all! It may be the lightest element in the periodic table, but that's _literally_, and feeling weightless or light is _figurative_."

"Ah, broaden your mind a little, fräulein, and use some imagination. Do you not feel it? The lifting of burdens, the relieving of responsibilities, and the accompanying feeling of _weightlessness_, untroubled and carefree."

"Now I'm wondering what kind of drugs you're doing," Ema said to the amused prosecutor. "The only time I'd be tempted to feel light would be a case of oxygen deprivation."

"Or immeasurable happiness."

"Then I and the rest of the world have yet to experience this 'weightless feeling' of yours. It only happens in books and poems."

Klavier paused for a moment—he could use this to his advantage, something he'd been slowly building up to… "Only in literary works, you say?" he said carefully. "I assure you, the feeling is quite real."

"Well, I'll phone you when I see it. When Hell freezes over."

"Then maybe I should show you."

Before Ema could react or even process what he had just said, or begin to marshal her suspicions together, the prosecutor leaned in so close that all she could see was his tanned face and ridiculously blue eyes.

_Hm…_ Ema thought, since she couldn't quite speak due to her mouth being preoccupied with something else. _Klavier was right about that weightless feeling. I _**am**_ feeling as light as hydrogen._

**Helium**

Ema was walking past the square in front of Sunshine Coliseum when she caught a glimpse of a blue and white badger. She froze mid-step, as she watched the monstrosity hand out balloons to little children too young to realize the artistic insult it bore to… well, anyone above the age of seven.

It wasn't the blatant disregard the visual trauma it was causing to nearly everybody, but the phobia she had nursed that made her freeze up. When she had been young, there had been a certain… incident concerning the Blue Badger, something she didn't care to remember. Hence the irrational fear of the mascot.

To her irritation, her muscles didn't seem to be freeing up anytime soon and, she soon realized, her eyes simply would not detract from the dreaded figure, so Ema quickly tried to direct her attention to something else. Namely, the balloons it bore in its paw.

_Think happy thoughts, Ema… the helium in the balloons, for instance. Helium is the second lightest element. It's lighter than air, which is why it's used to fill balloons. It's also non-flammable, unlike hydrogen, which, admittedly, is lighter than helium itself._

"Fräulein?"

The sound of a familiar, reassuring voice, even if it was annoying, relaxed her body immediately, and Ema managed to turn around, away from the sight of the police mascot. "Mr Gavin… Uh, hello."

Klavier didn't speak, but glanced towards the Blue Badger, presumably because the very sight of it had just transfixed her.

Ema felt the need to explain herself, because she was suspicious that her eyes had been bugging out weirdly when she was goggling at the badger. But how could she do so without explaining the embarrassing phobia that caused her to be paralyzed with fear? "Er…" she began, then stopped immediately.

Looming over her was a dark shape outlined by sunlight, but the bright blue was unmistakable. It gestured mutely at the two of them, its eyes eternally wide, its mouth in a perpetual, stupid grin. Ema could barely speak with the fear as the mascot silently bade her to purchase some balloons.

"I shall take the whole bunch," Klavier said, carelessly tossing a fifty-dollar bill for the gigantic bundle of balloons. He turned to Ema. "Here, fräulein detective."

"What? I don't want—"

"You were staring at the badger, were you not? For what reason but this? Just try deny it," he replied with a smirk.

"Um. Yes. Thanks," Ema lied, partly amused at Klavier's mistake, partly relieved at the excuse. She reached to take the balloons from him, but he suddenly retracted his hand.

"Wait just a moment, fräulein."

"Yes?"

"I will grant you these revered balloons, if you would go with me to lunch on, say, Saturday."

Ema stared. "No."

"Free lunch, fräulein detective…" he said temptingly.

"No."

"A day out with one of the world's most wanted men…" he proclaimed arrogantly.

"No."

"And you get these balloons as well…" he appealed knowingly.

"No."

But somehow, after a dozen wheedles from the rock star, Klavier's charisma and persuasion shone through, and Ema was foiled.

"A date it is!" he cried joyfully, and Ema cringed as more than a few heads turned their way.

_Well, at least I have these balloons._

**Lithium**

Ema was worried. Very worried. The most worrying thing about her worry was that she was worrying, most uncharacteristically, about the _very _worrying fop.

Klavier wasn't the type to show an angst rock star persona, and that was exactly the problem. He was all smiles, flirtatious, carefree. There always seemed to be a sort of façade around him, which was annoying at times, because of the emptiness of it all (though he seemed genuine around her), but this time, it was different. The protective wall he'd built around him grew and thickened, and now it seemed that she was staring at him through a tough sheet of Plexiglas.

The final blow of betrayal had been dealt by his brother. That was the cause of his change in attitude, the distance, the warm veneer he laid on thickly.

The detective swallowed. Could she really bear to see the hidden coldness in his face once again? But she needed to give him the autopsy report, and there was no helping that. So Ema turned the doorknob and entered. "Mr Gavin, I have the autopsy report…"

Klavier was strumming his guitar aimlessly, humming under his breath. "Ja, you may leave it at the desk. Danke," he said, looking up and giving a smile.

True, the smile looked one hundred percent genuine, because Gavin was so practiced at it, but his manner was different. Less flirting, more of a professional nature… not that she was complaining, but it did show Klavier's uncharacteristic manner. "Er… Are you okay?" Ema asked hesitantly.

"Ja."

"Because you seem a bit… different…"

"Really, is this concern? I am touched, fräulein detective," he teased lightly, offering a smirk.

"Yeah, well, if it's concern, are you complaining?"

"Nein, not at all, except that there is no need to worry on my behalf."

"Look, your brother betrayed you," Ema said, flinching at the passing shadow over his face. "I would be worried if you showed no signs of being affected. But you do seem affected."

"I am over it. I am not particularly proud of him, nor am I happy about the whole unfortunate affair, but I have come to terms with the fact that my brother is a psychotic murderer."

"Lithium," Ema muttered.

"Sorry?"

"I said, lithium."

"And why…?"

"Third element in the periodic table. The lightest metal. Soft and silvery; it's quite pretty, really. But when it comes into contact with moist air… a chemical reaction occurs, dulling it to more of a gray—and eventually black—tarnish," Ema explained. "That's you. Lithium. That façade is the pretty part, the perfect exterior. Even cut open, it exudes a sort of metallic luster (which just goes to show how good you are at pretending). But then that moist air will expose it, reveal what it has been hiding—the darkness, the secrets."

Klavier chuckled. "Please. I am not one to angst."

"Maybe not on the outside. But the inside… grey tarnish, remember?" Ema said, and when Klavier was about to interrupt, she quickly ploughed on. "What I'm saying is that you shouldn't have to pretend so hard and quit bottling it all up. It's easier to get over things when you have someone by your side."

The prosecutor stared.

"I mean—n-not that I'm implying anything in any way."

The German looked down, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Really, fräulein…"

But through the laughter, there was a curious sort of edge, combined with a faint gratefulness, and a long-nursed hurt…

Then Klavier looked up, and Ema, to her relief, could see no hint of moisture in his azure eyes.

"Danke."

**Beryllium**

"What the hell is this?"

Klavier looked up. "This? Just what I ordered."

For in front of Ema Skye's office was a pile of heavy-looking boxes with expensive-looking tags on them.

"I am barricaded in."

"Just wait a moment, fräulein, for the delivery men to come. They are supposed to help me move these boxes upstairs."

"What are they, anyway?"

"Speakers."

Ema was agonized at the thought of more of his horrible music, but felt that getting Klavier to move the boxes was a more urgent matter. "Your office isn't even in this building!"

"True, but I do spend a lot of time at the precinct."

"You don't have an office here! Where are you going to move the speakers?"

"Leave the little details to me. You should be getting ahead with your paperwork, ja?"

"No. I should be going out, buying more Snackoos, and _going home_."

Klavier stood there for a moment, watching the entrance, then turned to her. "Well, I am getting quite bored waiting for the delivery men. Let us talk."

Ema answered with a fierce glare, and a 'MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH' of her last packet of Snackoos, indicating her resolute silence.

But Klavier was sure he could break through her unwillingness to engage in conversation with him. He was, after all, a charismatic, charming (former) rock star. "You know, these speakers are made from beryllium."

Ema stopped munching and threw a handful of Snackoos at him, which he quickly batted away, lest they fall upon the beryllium-speaker-holding boxes. "Beryllium? Impossible!" she exclaimed, unable to resist. "Pure beryllium?" And when Klavier nodded, she shook her head suspiciously. "You were probably conned. I mean, pure beryllium is really good for acoustics, but it's really hard to shape and so much more expensive than titanium… oh."

Klavier smirked. "Just who do you think I am, fräulein?"

"…Yeah, whatever. Now, get these boxes out of my way!"

"Nein, both I and those boxes are perfectly content where we are." Ema rolled her eyes. "Although I would not mind if I were in your office with you."

KA-TONK!

"I feel as though I've been letting up on the Snackoo-ing, you know?" Ema said lightly as Klavier rubbed his forehead. Then: "…Oh damn."

Klavier smiled knowingly. "You have run out, ja?"

The detective offered a glare. "And that's another reason why you should move those boxes. Or I'll smash them, whether or not they're pure beryllium!"

The German had a feeling that she cared more about harming the actual element than the sheer cost of the speakers, but chose not to comment. Instead, he said, "That would be troublesome. How about I get you out without shifting these very heavy boxes?"

Ema deliberated for a moment—who knew what tomfoolery he'd be up to?—but then decided that the shortage of Snackoos was a much more pressing need than anything the fop could deal out. "Fine."

A smirk passed over his face, one that instantly made Ema regret her decision. But before she could even voice out a protest, he had somehow leaned over the towering boxes and grabbed her (rather intimately) by her waist. The next thing she knew, he was hoisting her up, and time was slowing (or perhaps Klavier had simply paused in bringing her to the other side of the barricade and prolonged the moment in his arms), with his stupid hands perpetually squeezing her waist till she was breathless.

"Er…" she began as he set her on the ground. _It was nothing, it was nothing, it was nothing. _"You're lucky I don't have any Snackoos right now!" she threatened.

"I was counting on it," he said, and kissed her.

**Boron**

_Why did I agree to this? Why the hell did I agree to this?_

"Fräulein detective? I must say you look stunning tonight. More than usual, which is quite a feat, if I may add."

Ema felt the blood rush into her cheeks—a flush, not a blush—and threw a Snackoo at Klavier, who blinked. "A Snackoo? But your amazing outfit has no pockets, ja?"

"No," she conceded. "But I knew I would at least need one. So I brought one."

The prosecutor smiled. "And that was the only one, ja?"

"…Yeah," Ema said reluctantly. _What possessed me to agree to this? What mad, suicidal impulse compelled me to agree to this? _

Ema certainly didn't know what she was doing in the same limousine with Klavier, in a fancy black dress and done-up hair, and Klavier in an overly presumptuous outfit, suitable for a glimmerous fop like him, on their way to a firework show, in what some ridiculously stupid and dense people might call a _date_. Ema choked at the very thought, which made Gavin turn to her in with a semi-amused, semi-concerned look. "I was just choking in disgust," Ema said. "Of having to spend the night in your company."

"Harsh words, even by your standards." Oh, how she wished she could wipe that smirk off his face. "But firstly, it is not right to criticize your _date_ like that. And secondly, I rather think that you were choking in astonishment at how I have managed to somehow make myself more… glamorous."

Ema's fop-killing mode was activated, and she honestly had to work not to do more than shoot a death glare at Klavier. "You... you…" But she could not think of a sufficiently bad insult; not even 'glimmerous fop' would suffice this time round.

Klavier's features suddenly softened as he gave a warm smile, and said, "I am a fop, ja?"

"Worse. Much worse."

"…In any case, we are here."

The firework display was supposed to commemorate some kind of launch that was sure to contain the words 'inaugural' and 'pioneer', and Klavier, being one of the High Prosecutors, was invited. And he had invited Ema. And Ema had accepted. _Why?_

She very nearly tripped over the long hem and high heels, but managed to regain her balance with her knowledge of energy transference—namely, transferring the kinetic energy of her fall to the fop. Unfortunately, the fop did not fall. "A little clumsy, aren't we, fräulein detective?"

_Must ignore fop._ Klavier was perfectly content chatting to himself, however, but somehow, he pulled Ema into the conversation. "Fireworks. I like fireworks," the detective found herself saying, drawn in by his natural and carefully nurtured charisma as well as his beseeching gaze. "I used to watch the displays with my sister when I was young. Did you know that amorphous boron is used in fireworks? The green kind." _And now, I am rambling. Why do I always have to make such a fool of myself?_

"Look," he said suddenly, and Ema obeyed.

Through the conversation, they had wandered from the foyer, to the hall (where people stared and goggled), and finally to the courtyard. The crisp night air and fresh scent of dampness made for a pleasant setting to the crackling, dry sparks that flew up into the sky like jets of steam, illuminating the night sky and banishing the stars. There were a few loud bangs, and a decisively bright flare followed, shooting across the sky with a streak of sheer color. Then the classic flowers ascended, with plumes of red, orange, blue, green (_amorphous boron, _Ema thought to herself), purple, white, yellow—every color imaginable, mixing into each other as the night filled up with light.

This continued for a few more minutes, as Ema watched, enthralled by the spectacle. This was easily, _easily_ the best fireworks display she had ever seen, not only because of the fantastic view, but the expert pyrotechnics were absolutely amazing.

It was times like this that Ema forgot the annoying presence by her side. But Klavier had not forgotten the woman. In his mind, even as he watched the fireworks, stealing glances at her from out of the corner of his eye, he knew this was the perfect opportunity. And what do you do with perfect opportunities? You reach out and grab them like you never have before.

By the end of the display, Ema had forgotten about the fireworks (and the boron, however attractive it was), for as the flares were dying down, Klavier had reached out and grabbed the opportunity like he never had before.

**Carbon **

Ema was dating Klavier Gavin.

Now, don't make any assumptions—it was all a misunderstanding.

But for now, before the mess had time to sort itself out, Ema was dating Klavier Gavin.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. _Why_ did she have to be stuck with that guy of all people?

"Gavin… why am I here?"

Okay, so it wasn't _entirely_ a misunderstanding. It was a… retort, of sorts.

"Because you wanted to get back at one of my fan girls. One instance where they came in useful, ja? Or perhaps you were just jealous."

"Shut it."

Yeah, his fan girls had annoyed her. Irritated her. And just plain _murdered_ her with their air-headed, inane comments—but mocking her? To that degree? Sure, they had provoked her, but _mocking_ her? And so came her rebuttal—dating Klavier Gavin.

"Well, you are here, and I am here, and _we are here on a date_," the man said louder than necessary.

Ema face-palmed. "Just shut up, okay?"

Klavier simply leaned in, his blue eyes catching Ema's own cobalt in their mesmerizing gaze. "But you know, there _is_ an even better way to make them _really_ angry."

The detective was interested, despite herself. Both her and Gavin knew this was fake—_and I don't care what Trucy says_, she thought—so her annoyance was at least softened slightly. "What is it?"

Klavier abruptly pulled back, grinning. "A surprise. I shall orchestrate it, if you so wish."

A series of very, _very_ undesirable consequences for her decisions panned out in her mind's eye. "You won't kiss me, right?" Ema asked, cringing uncontrollably.

"Oh, no, no, no. Nothing like that, of course." He paused, then gave a sunny smile. "Not that I would not like to."

"Ew. Please, spare me. But just tell me what you're planning. Now."

"A surprise, fräulein detective. So do you accept this mystery? The reward would be a rather amusing result from my fan girls…" He dropped his voice. "…who are watching us on this, er, _intimate_ date, by the way."

Ema knew exactly what he was insinuating: all her efforts and her stupid mistake (dating him to enrage his fan girls) would be for nothing if the pair of them appeared to do absolutely _nothing_ to cause excessive jealousy. And one way to remedy that was to go with whatever the fop was planning. It wasn't a kiss, and she could stand an embrace… could she really risk it for these rabid fans?

There was a sudden whisper behind some suspicious-looking bushes, and disdainful, bimbo-tic giggles ensued.

Yes. She could risk it.

She leaned in. "Fine," she hissed. "Anything to get back at those fan girls." _And fan boys, should it come to that_, she added mentally.

His trademark smirk decorated his face for an instant, only to be replaced by his charming smile—_his smile is _not_ charming!_—as he winked one desperately blue eye at her. "Then be prepared," he whispered back.

"Ema…" he began loudly. It was a rather secluded café, and Gavin had assured her that the media did not know of this particular hidey hole, Ema thought desperately to herself as her sense of foreboding grew larger and larger. _Whatever he tries will only be witnessed by my intended victims… and me._ "I know we have only been dating for about two days now, but…"

_Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. _Ema blanked out and tuned out whatever corn Klavier was spouting, hoping, _praying_, that he wasn't about to… wasn't about to…

And now he was kneeling down on one knee and holding out a velvet box.

…_THAT HE WASN'T ABOUT TO PROPOSE TO ME! _

"…That's all you have to offer?" Ema was most definitely _not_ going to say something like, 'Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!' but she wasn't entirely prepared to discard the act. She'd reject him, with flair. "A stick of carbon?" _Hah, take that! I'm sure you're just about reeling in confusion right now._

"True, diamonds are an allotrope of carbon," Klavier answered easily as Ema gaped and fumed. "But that does not make them equal to certain values of carbon itself."

Ema tossed her hair and pointed a decisive finger at him, as Klavier let a flash of amusement pass over his face before returning to his shocked pretense. "Rejected! You have just been rejected, _Klavier_, and—"

She knew that this approach was risky, because there was no telling the reactions of the fans, and now they sprung up from the bushes. _Will they be happy I've kept him available, or angry that I was foolish and presumptuous enough to reject what they think is a fallen god? _Truth be told, Ema wasn't sure which she'd prefer—remaining safe, and taunted for making a wrong decision, or harassed physically, but having succeeded in her goal.

"Come, fräulein detective," Klavier urged as he sprung up. "Let us ride the wind."

**Nitrogen **

"And now… presenting… the Amazing Trucy!" Apollo called out lackadaisically, and then whispered conspiratorially to the two-member audience (he didn't count because he was her 'assistant', and Mr Wright was just 'Daddy'), "Sorry about this."

"It is no problem at all, Herr Forehead."

"It _wouldn't_ be a problem," Ema interjected moodily. "If she hadn't invited the fop along as well."

An argument may have erupted right then and there, with the angry Ema, and the wearied Klavier, but it was at that moment that Trucy emerged from the makeshift curtain. She appeared as a silhouette, shielded by mist and cloud, and was slowly more and more distinguishable.

"Liquid nitrogen," Ema said, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side.

Then the Trucy-shaped shadow disappeared and in a flash, the real Trucy materialized on the other side of the stage, perfectly visible in a dashing outfit of soft blue cloth. "Welcome!" she cried joyfully. "To the magic performance of the century, by the one and only—or perhaps not so unique," she asserted slyly as the fog slowly thinned to reveal a Mr Hat-styled puppet—only it was Trucy's size and shape. "—Trucy Wright! For my first act, I will need… two volunteers. Anyone? Anyone at all?" Trucy called, as Klavier and Ema watched on amusedly. "You! The lovely couple at table number 6! Come join me here on the stage!"

Ema bristled at 'couple', and a small furrow appeared between Klavier's brows, but they both shook it off with a shrug at the naïve young girl (who must have read too many cheap romance novels or shoujo manga, for she believed two people who hated each other's guts—or at least Ema detested Klavier, and Klavier merely saw her as a rather amusing colleague—were made for each other). They both got up and made their way up to the platform.

"Welcome, welcome, to the spotlight! To the _spotlight_," Trucy repeated pointedly, giving a look at Apollo, who hastily mustered up all the strength he possessed in his scrawny arms to shift the light to her. The girl then turned to Klavier. "I need not ask _your_ name, good sir—I know you're Klavier Gavin! But who is your stunning—" _Dare she say it?_ "—date?"

Klavier raised his eyebrows and gave Trucy a subtly chiding look, but maintained a perfect smile on his face. "Ema Skye, though _she is not my date_."

"Now, don't be shy!" The prosecutor could see that there was no swaying Trucy, and did not try, but Ema was seething in indignation.

"I think I can do better than _him_!" she cried.

"Better than a world-renowned rock star, whose looks are the envy of every man, and whose charm is the covet of every female? But no matter—let us begin." Trucy stifled a giggle at speaking with such… such… _poise_ (was that the word?), such formality. Her performance-speak, if you may. "I shall make these two volunteers… disappear!"

Cue the pre-rehearsed (albeit unenthusiastic) gasp from Apollo. Even Ema was interested—she knew Trucy was more than an average magician (in fact, Ema usually ended up being pretty amazed at her professionalism), but disappearing her and a certain fop off the face of the earth? In a shabby little apartment—no stage tricks or props?

"Now, could both of you please step behind into the mist?"

Ema glanced behind her. The liquid nitrogen was filling up the stage once again, manned by a tired-looking Apollo. She walked into it. All at once, her senses were overwhelmed with the gas, as she coughed and hacked. It rose high into the air—which was impossible, wasn't it? But the detective couldn't really think—and it had _nothing to do with the fact that Klavier had stumbled into her and crashed the two of them into the ground, him lying rather suggestively on top of her._

Oh damn. And she'd been doing so well not thinking about it. "Stupid, clumsy fop," she hissed.

"Ach, sorry, fräulein detective. But it certainly was not my fault that you stopped so suddenly, ja?" Gavin said as he scrambled up, and Ema could even _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

"Yeah, whatever, glimmer boy." Ema paused for a moment as the liquid nitrogen cleared. "Er… where are we?"

"…What? The fräulein magician… Herr Forehead… where are they?"

"She really did make us vanish?"

"Ahahaha. This is all a magic trick, ja? Herr Forehead must be around somewhere to lead us out of whatever secret passage she had managed to construct."

They both looked round, but could see nothing but the two of them in a large, circular room with no furniture and, strangely enough, no color. "A door… a door…" Klavier murmured as he scanned the room once again. But all he could see—besides the rounded walls—was a thin, cold layer of mist.

"At least the liquid nitrogen is still here," Ema said. "Some sense of continuity."

It was at that moment that the two of them suddenly realized that they were alone.

**Oxygen**

Ema was perpetually in need of oxygen. And there is really no better way to back up this statement than to present some evidence.

Article number one: fan girls. They congregated upon the crime scene, and seemed to hyperventilate continually, gulping in copious amounts of air like a fish in need of water.

Article number two: Roses. They filled her cubicle, though not one of them had a thorn—someone must have plucked it out before giving it to her. These red roses was fine during the day, because they photosynthesized and gave out oxygen, but when she worked overtime at night, the corridor lights were turned off, and she had to make do with her desk light and her computer screen. The light failed to reach the roses—and now they only respired, taking in oxygen and releasing carbon dioxide. No oxygen for Ema, it seemed.

Article number three: Klavier Gavin. The man simply had no concept of personal space. He would lean over her when she was working, and it must have been this proximity that allowed him to somehow inhale all the oxygen in the room—why else would she be short of breath?

**Fluorine**

No, no and no. Why did all the stores seem to have an obsession with selling Brushers? It was a terrible name, and—in Ema's opinion—a terrible brand. The toothpaste was taking over the dental industry, and Ema hated the thought of it. What happened to good old Colgate? Oral-B? Gummer?

But the detective knew _exactly_ what had happened. They had dropped out of popularity so drastically that only select stores in the city sold them, stores Ema had yet to find, but the reason for their absence was all too clear.

The reason for their absence was Brushers' popularity. And then reason for its popularity was the same reason Ema was not buying it.

That blue glint. That smile. That _face_.

Klavier Gavin made more money than she would in a lifetime, and _still_ he wanted more of it. Why else would he agree to sponsor Brushers? The incorrigible advertisements, the ridiculous billboards, and… and… just plain foppishness! The worst thing was that everyone was buying them, _because_ of Gavin.

"Damn, not here either." Oh, what she would give for a stick of Colgate!

Ema was very picky about her toothpaste. It had to have certain ingredients, certain colors, and a certain absence of a very annoying face that made her want to punch walls. Absently, she picked up a tube of Brushers and barely restrained from squeezing—not _strangling_, definitely not, because it was more than a little unhealthy for a detective to want to murder her boss, who was a prosecutor—the guts out of the tube. To compensate, she started devours Snackoos at an alarming pace, trying to force herself to return the tube back to the shelf without mutilating it.

The next thing she knew, she was out of the store, because, apparently, it was against store policy to eat inside, and to spray crumbs at the storeowner in an attempt to explain that if she didn't get her daily intake of Snackoos, she would possibly die, even if it didn't sound scientifically possible.

She looked down at the squished tube of toothpaste. Did it count as shoplifting if she was kicked out? In any case, the Brushers tube was too damaged to be returned. Ema sighed—at least the fop's face had been squished as well.

Stupid, expensive toothpaste. Since when was toothpaste expensive? (_Since Klavier Gavin came along into the toothpaste industry, _Ema though bitterly. _Does he want to be an oral expert? Perhaps take up a third job as a dentist?_) Cheap toothpaste did just as well; they had the crucial fluoride as well, and Brushers was daylight robbery.

"I _hate_ you, Klavier Gavin," she muttered to herself. For a moment, she was aghast at her vocalization of this truth, as Gavin had the knack to appear at the oddest times, but assured herself that even for _him_, it was improbable that he would meet her out of work in this part of town.

"Hate me?"

No. Ema knew he was never one to miss a cue, but this was going from ridiculous to impossible. _Why_ had he even come here? Was he _stalking_ her?

"Fräulein detective?"

"Hello, Mr Gavin." She ground her teeth.

"My, my, what politeness. And here I was, thinking that you had just proclaimed your hatred of me?"

Ema remained silent. Brushers, she reflected, really was an okay brand—it had the right colors, the essential ingredients (most notably, fluoride, which was very important indeed). It was Gavin's face that ruined it. Ema just didn't care anymore. "Yes, I did. And unless you have some toothpaste, could you go away? _Colgate_, not the ridiculous one with your face on it."

"Colgate? As it happens, I came here after finishing a deal with… never mind," he hastily said as he saw the murderous look on Ema's face. _I could build an entire case on that look against her_, he mused, _on attempted murder. _"But rest assured, Brushers is safe from me. They breached a certain clause in the contract, so I have dissolved ties with them. In any case, as it happens, I do have some Colgate with me at the moment."

Ema didn't stop to wonder why he had a tube of Colgate with him, simply because he was Klavier Gavin. She reached out and took the red box, handing the damaged tube of Brushers to the amused prosecutor.

What the hell.

And yes, it was a statement.

What. The. Hell.

Ema looked up and met the foppish smile. She looked at the squished tube in his hands and met the foppish smile. And finally, she looked down at the box and met the foppish smile once more.

"Klavier Gavin… _I hate you_!"

Ema didn't brush her teeth that night.

**Neon**

Ema Skye met Klavier Gavin three times under neon lights.

She was a student in Germany, and being… a bit more eccentric than the other students, didn't, to her dismay, get along all that well with them. Not even her shamelessly happy demeanor could remedy that. Whatever social interactions she now had were with calls to Lana, Edgeworth, and Phoenix Wright. She really did try to make friends, but they shook her off, having already formed their own groups, and Ema grew more and more solitary. An independent, she often went to the convenience store to buy some snacks that she had been indulging in recently—perhaps in response to her sudden loneliness?

It so happened that it was under the neon lights of the convenience store that Ema met Klavier Gavin thrice.

The first time, he looked at her intently under the blue neon lights, as if expecting her to react somehow. When she didn't, he looked a little confused. Did she know that mysterious boy? "Er… do I know you?" she asked when he did not relent in his staring.

"Ja, you should," the teen said in immaculate English. He seemed a little irked. "But no matter. What is your name?"

So he expected her to know _him_, when he didn't even know _her_? "Er… I'm Ema Skye," she offered, nonplussed, yet happy to finally have someone to talk to, a potential—though odd—friend. "So who are you, exactly?"

"Klavier Gavin." The boy gave a smirk, and cocked his head as if expecting a reaction from his very name.

Ema cocked her head too—the name did sound vaguely familiar… "Ah!"

"Ja?"

"I _do_ know you… heard about you at any rate," Ema began, and the teen's smirk grew satisfied. "You're that new prosecutor!"

Silence. Dead silence.

_Er… was I wrong? I don't think so… _Ema thought. _Mr Edgeworth said that there was a new prosecutor in Germany, a seventeen-year old genius called Klavier Gavin. And not many parents would name their kid '_piano_'._

Then he began to laugh. It wasn't a ridiculing laugh, but an amused one, his shoulders shaking as he bent down, tucking his hands into his pockets. "True, true," he said, looking up at her. "But not what I was expecting from a young fräulein like yourself."

And he left, leaving Ema alone in the glow of the neon lights.

The second time she met him, Ema had nursed an addiction to a singularly delicious snack known as Snackoos. This time, she was the one to approach him. "…Klavier Gavin?"

He smiled at her. "Hello, fräulein. I thought you would be here."

The way he said it made Ema think that he came here… to see _her_. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I will be flying over to America for my first trial. Not bad for a seventeen year old, ja?"

Ema had met Klavier _once_, and he came all the way here to tell her that? But then, she supposed, as a rock star (as she had discovered) he would only have formed many superficial bonds with other people because of his fame, and he knew she was not a fan of the Gavinners. _…That… would be pretty desperate of him._ "I know someone who became a prosecutor at thirteen, actually. But anyway, who's the defense?"

"My bro, Kristoph. Brother against brother," he said, grinning. "This will be a trial to remember."

It was in this way that the two teens got to know each other better, and Ema grew to accept Klavier as a friend.

The third time they met under the neon lights of the store, it was under less friendly conditions. The moment Ema caught sight of Klavier, rage and betrayal filled up inside of her, and she growled, "_You_."

"Ja, in the flesh," he confirmed, smiling, but a little confused at her outraged expression.

"Disbarment! You disbarred Phoenix Wright for forging evidence, of all things! He would never do that!"

Klavier knew what Phoenix had done for her in the past, and looked to the side, unsmiling. "Maybe not the Phoenix you knew, but you cannot deny that he presented—"

KA-TONK!

"…Ah!"

"You jerk! How can you even say that? And to think…" she trailed off. "…Well, I hope I never have to meet you _ever again_, _especially_ not as your co-worker! You… I…"

"Ema! Wait!"

The girl had stormed off in a rage, unable to even stand the sight of him.

"Please, Ema!"

And that was the end of their third meeting—that is, their third meeting in Germany.

Fate was not kind to Ema; she failed the forensics test and ended up being a detective in the precinct. But that wasn't the worst of it—Klavier Gavin was there, working at Los Angeles, and though time had abated some of her anger, he was far from forgiven.

And that was how her campaign against Klavier Gavin began—under the glow of the blue neon lights.

A/N This is something new. Doing Klema according to the elements in the periodic table, ten per chapter, and in order. It'll be a _looong_ fic, that's for sure. Each element-oneshot will have varying lengths: compare, say, **boron**, to **oxygen**. If you disliked the length or felt a shorter length would be better, do tell. It'll be great if you guys could review me your ideas for the next ten elements—save me some trouble, would you? I realize that each element doesn't really pertain to the story, per se, but serves as more of an inspiration to me: as in, find something that the element makes, or one of its properties, and build on that. Like, the real prompt for helium could have been balloons, and the real prompt for fluorine could have been toothpaste. Tell me… Is that okay with you guys? 

I think… nitrogen was the worst, then hydrogen (which was the first one I wrote, incidentally).

**Hydrogen: **No comment, except… it may have been a bit forced.

**Helium: **Balloons. Filled with helium. 

**Lithium: **Klavier is lithium! Yay! This one may have been forced as well.

**Beryllium: **What was this about, again? (goes and checks) Oh right. Speakers. I was excited when I saw beryllium had good acoustics on Wikipedia, because speakers and Klavier just go together.

**Boron: **I liked writing this one—fireworks are just so…. Couple-y, don't you think? Amorphous boron is used for green flares in pyrotechnics.

**Carbon: **I knew about diamonds and carbon, obviously, but wasn't quite sure how to fit it in. Klavier calling Ema a diamond? A proposal scene? Well, the latter, but a _fake_ one, in any case.

**Nitrogen: **All the elements so far had featured Klavier as being attracted to Ema—I chose a different take in this one, with both of them having no feelings for each other. I also included a more supernatural tack to it. This one is too long, and has no point. Whatsoever. It sounds like… an introduction to a multi-chaptered fic. Kudos to whoever can pull it off. Yeah, this one has no resolution, no conclusion, no Klema, and that's about it. 

**Oxygen: **The shortest one.

**Fluorine: **Yes, Brushers is a made up name. As is Gummer. By the way, the original toothpaste name I had planned was ToothyCleaners, because its name was just so terrible and so hilarious, but I decided that even Klavier wouldn't sponsor a stupid brand like that. Yeah, this one is just… random.

**Neon: **Young!Ema and young!Klavier in Germany. 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** No, I haven't forgotten about this! Though it's been quite a while. I'm pretty busy with school right now… But I promise, I will continue to update this story, albeit each chapter being sparse and far-between.Shoutout to **Emeraldene **for giving me much-needed info on these ten elements. 

**Sodium**

"Salt… salt… You there! Do you have any salt?"

"N-no, Detective Skye!"

"Hmph." Ema went back to rummaging around in the cafeteria. How was it possible that such a place didn't provide the basic condiments?

A soft voice answered her unspoken question. "Because you have already finished all the salt, fräulein detective."

She jumped, startled. "Klavier Gavin!"

"…Hi."

Ema turned away from him. "Finished it all, huh? That sucks."

"I must say, I have been wondering… Why have you been craving so much salt lately?"

She didn't respond.

"I suspect the reason is in your Snackoos, ja?"

She glared at him for guessing it so plainly. "Yes," she conceded. "They put so much salt in the damn snacks that I've been craving it for all my regular meals."

"And here I was thinking you had not the appetite for any other food, what with all the junk you eat. Really, fräulein, you should watch your weight. Besides, salt is very bad for your health."

She'd better make do with what she had, Ema thought. Some tasteless rice, a pack of spinach, some weenies, and a glimmerous fop. She slowly spooned the food into her mouth as she sat down, deliberately shoving large spoonfuls into her mouth to discourage the fop.

He desisted, in the way that he stopped talking, but he did sit down next to her. For a guy with three cases on his plate, Gavin seemed to have a lot of free time. _That's because he's a prosecuting genius_, one part of her mind informed her. The snappier part said, _Oh, shut up. All prosecutors are prosecuting geniuses, and he keeps losing to Apollo anyway._

Klavier continued to wait patiently till Ema laboriously finished her meal. When she was done, she said, "Well?"

"Well… what?"

"What do you want with me? Why have you been sitting here for the past hour?" Ema had dragged the meal on for as long as she could, in the hopes that he would run away and go play tiddlywinks or something.

"I was waiting for you, of course."

Ema waited. Klavier didn't say anything more. "And?" she prompted.

"And… what?"

She heaved a sigh. "Why were you waiting for me?"

"To speak with you."

"And what are you planning to discuss?" Ema said impatiently.

"Give me a moment to recall."

"I'm leaving."

She got up, Klavier following suit, and dumped her empty containers into the rubbish bin.

"Ah, yes."

Ema turned to him. "_Yes_?" she said dangerously. "Have you _recalled_?"

"Ja. I meant to tell you this before you started on your meal, of course. Detective Gumshoe always brings some salt with him to season some weenies."

Now_ he tells me. Of course. _

"Thank you," Ema replied steadily. "That was very helpful."

"Ah, sarcasm. Some say it is the lowest form of wit."

Deliberately annoying her. Deliberately slighting her. She tried to ignore him as she walked on. "Your office is in the opposite direction," she reminded him, trying to keep the venom out of her voice. It was better to insult and complain behind his back to Apollo rather than lose her temper, which was probably what Gavin wanted. But he was just so infernally infuriating.

"I would much rather go with you."

Ema didn't know how to react to that, so she gave a sort of laugh. "Ha ha. You're a riot."

"And what is so funny?"

She didn't respond to that either, merely snagging a pack of handy salt from Gumshoe as he passed. Gumshoe looked as though he were going to object, but perhaps some fear of either Ema (for her infamous temper) or prosecutors (for the ever-docking pay) kept his cries of protest at bay. Ema could feel quite sorry for him at times—until he contaminated fingerprint samples or stepped on vital evidence at the crime scene.

They walked in silence.

It was almost uncharacteristic. No, it _was_ uncharacteristic. Klavier. Silent. Not being an utter fop.

"Are you leaving now?"

Ema had reached her office.

"Not quite yet, fräulein detective. I am perfectly free right now, ja?"

"How rare free time is," Ema remarked drily, staring at the piles and piles of case files on her desk. "And how precious. Why don't you go spend it somewhere else?"

"There is nowhere else I would rather spend it other than here."

"What, at the precinct?" Ema said unthinkingly. _What a workaholic._ She tore open the salt, glancing around the office for something to season.

"Nein. With you."

It was with a violent, shocked tug that Klavier became coated in salt. Ema didn't even glance at him, feeling her erratic palpitations at his unexpected words. "Ha ha," she said, a little weakly. "I see Mr Cheesy has come to town."

The packet of salt had been completely emptied on Klavier, but when he left with his usual smirk, there was a trace of it left on Ema's lips.

**Magnesium**

Trucy gave a flick—one—two—until, finally, she managed to light the paper. "And this proves what, exactly?" Klavier asked as she brandished the burning note.

"It proves," Ema said. "That it was a magnesium firestarter used to burn the letter and not a common match."

"Yeah, what she said!" Apollo cried. "_Take that!_"

"What I am most interested in," Klavier cut in. "Is why the fräulein detective, who is working for the prosecution, did not bring this up during our review of the case, and instead ran to the defense to present her findings."

The flame ran along the paper before Trucy finally put it out, placing it on the bench. "There's some black powder there…" she observed.

"Magnesium oxide," Ema explained. "Similar to the ash from the note found at the crime scene."

"And what does this prove?"

Apollo took the cue. "Those burnt matches weren't a product of burning the blackmail letters—the handy magnesium firestarter was used for that. You wanted proof of the existence of the diary pages? Well, here it is: proof that the pages were burnt! It was a closed room, completely locked, and sparsely decorated. There were a limited number of objects that could've been used. The matches found burnt were the entirety of the single twenty-stick pack we found. We assumed it was used to burn the twenty blackmail letters, one for each, because the matches themselves were faulty and the flames died quickly. So we get twenty partially burnt pieces of paper, but burnt enough to be beyond identification as _the_ blackmail letters. Of course, Rick Anderson managed to prove that they were indeed the letters. There were no other objects in the room that could have been burnt or used as further fuel, not even the victim's or the suspect's clothes, because they were wearing special costumes. So when I brought up the question of the diary pages, and the possibility of them being burnt, it was discarded… because of the _impossibility_ of them being burnt. But now, traces of magnesium oxide were found on the _twenty-first_ piece of paper, so small and such a scrap that it was quite negligible. But it was there nonetheless, proving that there was _another_ source of fire, and the matches were a red herring! The blackmail letters were a cover for the true incriminating evidence—the missing diary pages!"

"There is no evidence that the scrap of paper was a diary page."

That simple, quick statement foiled Apollo, and he leaned over the bench, hair drooping in disappointment. "Gahh…" he mumbled in coherently.

Klavier smiled. "And that, friends, is how you work in a court of law."

"What? Evidence is everything?" Ema shot back, annoyed.

"There is nothing more," he said, smirking. Then a shadow crossed his face, and Klavier looked as though he wished to bite back the words that escaped his lips. Ema was confused for a moment, before she remembered the trial through which his brother's monstrosity was revealed. _Evidence is everything. There is nothing more. _Those words, spoken so self-assuredly, before… before Klavier had reminded Kristoph of the new jury system.

Oh. The jury.

It seemed all of them had forgotten about that, so Ema deigned to remind them.

But then, Klavier spoke. "Actually, we all forget the jury."

Apollo looked so relieved that Ema felt a little sorry for the defense at their card-castle of a case. So circumstantial, very convincing, with almost enough evidence—but not enough. But that was what the jury was for.

The verdict was 'Not Guilty', and Apollo left to celebrate with Trucy. When the result was announced, Klavier looked distracted. He must have been distraught, maybe a little frightened, at the words of his brother echoing through him. But he had always hid things well, and he seemed back to normal soon after. _I won't interfere_, Ema decided firmly. _He's absolutely fine. _

The next day, the prosecutor found a pack of Snackoos on his desk and a small note. He went the rest of the week with a smile on his face.

**Aluminum**

Ema considered aluminum foil to be one of the most useful things in the world.

Firstly, food. It was great for cooking, and a handy container for those nasty leftovers she might need later. And boy, were those leftovers useful. She smiled as she lay down the case file onto the desk, noting remnants of her spaghetti Bolognese decorating the abandoned purple jacket hanging over the recliner.

Secondly, crushing. She had often heard of pet owners using aluminum as a cheap alternative from yarn or rubber balls for cats. Of course, she always tested out hearsay before confirming the said hypothesis, and it was thusly proven by the surprised cry of one unfortunate man being battered not by the expected Snackoos, but by the light pattering of foil balls.

Thirdly, decoration. It most definitely wasn't an act of revenge that she covered the walls of a certain room with rolls of aluminum foil. It most certainly wasn't to cover up the cases upon cases of guitars and egoistical posters of that man. It was simply good taste.

Yes, Ema considered aluminum foil most useful in her lifelong campaign against certain glimmerous fops.

**Silicon**

It wasn't often that Ema got to go on holiday, let alone in Venice, what with all her studies in Germany. It wasn't even a school trip—it was a real holiday. But Lana was still in prison, and her aunt and cousins were trapped in London because of the freak blizzard. A holiday all on her own. Her aunt had already paid for the hotel, so that was covered, and the only expenses she had to cover were food and whatever souvenirs she would treat herself to. Good thing that part-time job reeled in a ton of money.

"Now, where to?" she muttered to herself. She could go on the gondola ride, or maybe to that palace... or she could stay in the hotel, like every other holiday. But this wasn't just _any _holiday; this was _Venice_. And she was_ alone_. She could do anything she wanted, and do it without waking up at seven in the morning. Pity Venice wasn't exactly known for its science centers, but hey, no trip was perfect.

At this moment, a glimpse of bright green caught her eye, and she stooped down to investigate. It was a pamphlet that had fallen from her bed as she had bobbed excitedly at the possibilities. Ema picked it up and smiled. _This_ was what she wanted to do.

Ema had always admired the arts, though she had never been any good at it herself. Music, dancing, pottery, all the works, but both her passion and talent had lain in the more concrete sciences. The perfect place presented in the pamphlet encompassed both the science and the arts rather well: glass blowing. Ema didn't know much about it herself.

"Something about silicon…" she muttered as she traversed the streets, searching for the docks that held the boats to take her to the famed island where the said glass blowing took place.

Unfortunately, she was hopeless at directions. But Ema never did things by halves, so she couldn't give up, and it was with her hands full of a map and compass (okay, maybe the compass was overdoing it, but she needed all the help she could get) that she took a tumble from a short flight of stairs. Disorientated, she tried to blink away the haze that settled over her vision, ignoring the awkward position she had landed in. Her leg was twisted oddly from the fall, and a throbbing pain persisted with each thought that passed through her head.

Was that a voice? A glimpse of gold? Ema made an attempt to move, but even the slightest shift intensified the headache.

"Hello?" she garbled, sure that someone had picked up (or stolen) all her stuff.

A strong hand gripped hers and pulled, but when Ema grunted in pain, the tugging ceased. So someone was there. Hopefully a helpful someone who spoke English. Or, she reflected hazily, German. She could speak German.

"My leg," she managed.

Careful fingers pried Ema's leg from under her, to a more comfortable position.

"Is that better?" The voice was male, perhaps in his teens, and heavily accented.

Ema grunted in assent, unwilling to move her head in a nod. The stranger made another move to help, so she said, "Wait a moment… my head… hurts…"

Obediently, the stranger stopped and crouched beside her. As the pain receded, her vision grew more focused. He was indeed a teen, and evenly tanned. Gold hair framed his face, styled in what Ema imagined was hip for the time. Scientifically speaking, his bone structure dictated him as a fine male specimen. Rather handsome, in fact.

The girl made another attempt to get up, and the boy quickly aided her. Now, she was propped upright against the stonewall, with him staring anxiously at her. "So," she started. "Thanks for helping me. I'm Ema Skye. You are…?"

"Klavier Gavin," he said, somewhat stiltedly.

So he wasn't that fluent in speaking English. But Ema finally detected the accent: German. "**Hallo, Klavier. What are you doing here in Venice?**" She spoke in the aforementioned language, wondering if her pronunciation was passable. Small talk. She could work with small talk.

Klavier's eyebrows shot up at the change in language, and a charming smile spread across his face, revealing teeth that showed up stark white against his tan. "**You speak German! I am meeting my brother here.**" But his grin disappeared when he cast a worried glance at her bloodied leg.

"**I have some medical supplies in my bag,**" she said, getting to the crux of the issue and gesturing to her rucksack. He bent down to pull out her handy stack of bandages and disinfectant, raising an eyebrow at her preparedness. She made to take them from him, but before she could, he was already gently dabbing at her knee with yellow liquid and cotton wool. Feeling a little awkward, she sat back to watch him, almost prince-like, as he treated her wound.

What would Lana say to her injuring herself? She hurt herself frequently, often inviting chides and teases. It wasn't that she was clumsy—Ema was simply, as Lana had put it once, much too active. She would bury herself in her science books at home, then run outdoors to experiment and confirm theories; learning, all the time. And then in some endeavor, like climbing an old oak or examining the pebbles at the edge of a deep brook, she would fall and find herself in the same predicament every time—reaching over to her handy bag and retrieving the medicine she had long learnt to carry around. Lana had tended to her before, but then her prosecutorial duties had distanced her. Now Ema took care of herself.

Except, at this moment, she was treated to the sensation of being cared for, something her childhood had not exactly lacked, but she had brushed off with independence.

"Done," Klavier announced in English, pasting on the bandage with a flourish.

"Thanks." She examined the dressing as he carefully put away the supplies back into her bag, then extended a hand to her.

She hesitated for a moment; her headache must have deranged her senses, because she took a while to understand the meaning of his gesture. Somewhere along the line of the distance of Lana to her regained warmth, and then to her imprisonment, Ema had come to the conclusion that she was on her own. Independence.

She took his hand.

**Phosphorus**

The bombs are falling in the distance, bursting with fire. Each flash of light, the single source that brightens the darkness, spells death. Ema fancies she can smell the odor of destruction through the rank stench of blood. At this point, a shell is catapulted a few meters from her, and before she can react, it explodes in a brilliant flash.

She is tossed to the jagged ground mercilessly, hearing the crunch of stones against her body, feeling the baking heat against her face. She smells garlic from her burns—phosphorous, she realizes vaguely.

Ema's on her back, looking up at the smoky sky, hearing the shouts and grenades, tasting blood and despair, feeling each bone in her body, and sniffing the scent of garlic. Her uniform is torn and ripped, just as much as her battered self. This war seems like an unsolvable conflict, too far gone to be won or lost. An unyielding bloodbath.

She can feel herself slipping away.

Never give up. She tries to marshal up her anger against the enemy, perhaps against her own nation, but her trademark aggravation fails her. She is left gasping for breath and wishing for death.

Then she sees something, a vague shape against the backdrop of grey and yellow. Her eyes slip into a squint, and Ema makes it out into a face. Someone peering at her—someone with blonde hair and blue eyes. _Superior race_, chants her mind. _So-called pure Aryans; the enemy. _But it doesn't connect with her reflexes and only with her emotions—Panic surges through her, racking her body with terror instead of adrenaline.

But the German doesn't whisk up a machete or whip out a gun. Instead, he gently pushes her to behind the sandbags, away from the hail of shots and bombs.

But he's in a uniform, a Nazi symbol on the sleeve and he—he's the idealized model of a German; blonde hair, blue eyes, bone structure, everything! But his eyes are troubled and concerned, and his gestures so unmilitary, as though he's let down a façade.

And there they stay, behind a wall of sand, with only the scent of garlic creeping round to remind them of the war outside.

**Sulfur**

_Fire and brimstone_, Ema read, _spells your timely death._

An odd note, she decided, and one with a decidedly ominous quality. One of the more sinister and, quite frankly, creepy messages that a killer had left behind. Short but menacing. The murderer meant business.

A twisted religious zealot, perhaps? Or a particularly dramatic madman? Ah well. Her job was to find the evidence, not profile the criminal, and certainly not annoy the hell out of the forensics team with her constant prying.

So she took a step back and surveyed the crime scene. It was just as baleful as the note itself, a dark room with a misshapen corpse on the floor. The dead man was clearly the victim of some vesicant effect of sulfur mustard, raising large blisters on his skin that burst with ugly yellow fluid, spilling out in crisscross patterns along the pallor of his sick-looking skin. Surrounding him were spots of red liquid—not blood, but… could it be? The products of a melted-down sulfur. Yes, Ema decided, this case was most definitely the brainchild of melodrama. It finally provided the reason for the almost pitch black room; as sulfur burned and melted into the crimson liquid, a blue flame would burn brightly in the room, its effect maximized by the contrasting gloom.

_Fire and brimstone. _A thought shot across Ema's mind. Brimstone was the old name for sulfur.

Chills ran down her spine, imagining the scene that the victim would have been in at the time of death; blisters suddenly pulsating on his body from the seemingly harmless itches, the slow effect of the mustard gas, as he was wrestled easily to the floor—there were signs of struggle on his forearms—and groaning in pain at the slightest touch, with the bottle-blue flames of sulfur lurking on a pool of dark cherry liquid…

The door swung open, and Ema spun around, catching sight of her prosecutor boss. Gavin. "What have we here, fräulein detective?" he said cheerily, before his eyes landed on the gruesome sight before them. She saw him swallow a curse, tanned face paling with repulsion.

"There was a note." Ema showed him the letter she retrieved, encased in a protective plastic slip. He read through it slowly, furrowing his brow.

"Fire and brimstone… Sulfur, I take it? Sulfur on fire would have resulted in these red stains, and his burn. And those terrible blisters—mustard gas?" he deduced, before she could even begin to fill him in. "It seems our killer harbors a fondness for the dramatic." He handed the plastic back to her. "So what else have you got for me?"

Ema reflected that everything she deduced and found in the past few minutes had been (annoyingly) neatly summarized by him.

So, infuriated, she replied, "That's my line."

**Chlorine**

Ema had never liked the beach. It was hot and full of water, two things she absolutely detested. So when she heard about the company trip to the local beach, she objected rather strongly. The result was a compromise, to a location much preferred, but still loathed—swimming pools.

Swimming pools, she scoffed in her mind. Full of artificial chemicals like chlorine and bromide. At least they ensured that the pathogens and bacteria and whatnot (so sue her, she wasn't an expert on the science of resort cleanliness) were dispelled. Still, maybe she could call in sick. Or skip it altogether.

Then she learned that Miles Edgeworth would be going, and her decision was made.

But _then_, she learned that Klavier Gavin would be going, and her decision was very nearly un-made.

She weighed up the pros and infinite cons into her mind, and decided that Edgeworth was an automatic winner, despite Gavin tipping up the scales quite a bit. So she went, but determined not to be dragged into actually swimming.

Klavier seemed disappointed when she didn't turn up in some two-piece swimsuit, instead donning her usual attire with three fresh packets of Snackoos. _She_ was just disappointed that Miles Edgeworth didn't turn up—something about going to the theatre and watching every movie except the Steel Samurai. She quickly found a shady spot to sit and munch her snacks, sighing at the hot sun overhead.

Unfortunately, the sanctuary she chose was rather close to the pool, and someone—she didn't _know_ who, but she was pretty damn certain—thought it funny to push her in.

Suffice to say she spent the rest of the day in a tenuously clinging white lab coat and evil—oh, so _very _evil—revenge plans boiling in her mind.

**Argon**

They were advancing upon her, the krysenians, with their multi-faceted weapons most definitely targeted toward her. She looked into their reflective 'eyes', feeling the hopelessness of this particular situation all too worriedly, and backed up against the wall, wondering what she could possibly do. It would be far too naïve to count on backup, for they were busy fighting for their own, and the menacing aliens were most definitely at an advantage.

_C'mon, Ema_, she chided herself, letting her annoyance override her fear. _You didn't make it this far, the lone female, to let these krysenians crush you. Think, dammit!_

A twisted beam shot out from one of the membranes that stretched over the nozzle, but Ema dodged it reflexively. The krysenians were a very scientific species, noting down her reaction with indiscernible clicks of their mandibles, and adjusting some node on their guns.

What could she do? Her weapon was out of ammo, it was inconceivable to take them on physically, and she was in a medical facility. Wait—she was in a _medical facility_. A plan outlined itself in her mind, and she sprinted through the aliens, receiving a severe burn and possibly some radiation poisoning in the process, but reaching her destination nonetheless. Smooth beams encircled her in an improbable cage, but no matter—she would soon escape.

So she took hold of the implement loaded onto the medi-bay, and directed it at the krysenians, wincing as her right elbow protested with burns. She fired. The argon laser shot a blue-green ray at the enemy, reflecting and refracting in their faceted weapons and membrane-stretched beings until both the guns and bodies could take it no longer.

Suffice to say, it was not a pretty sight.

Ema holstered the argon laser onto her belt and ran out of the sick bay. _Looks like retinal detachment isn't the only thing this baby treats_, she thought gratefully. It was a long shot, her plan, but it had worked. Then, to her left, she heard a drawn-out shout, a cry for help.

She jumped down from the ledge, armor absorbing the residual impact, and knelt in front of the soldier. In one smooth movement, she drew out her argon laser, forced the man back, and dodged a crackling ray. She pulled the trigger and the offending krysenians imploded.

"Are you okay?" she asked, without turning, holstering the weapon carefully back.

When he didn't answer, she twisted her neck to see the man she'd just saved. It was the new German transferee, reputedly the best in the force back on Aeridan II. But, she thought, this was a military ship, not some colony with only a mild war brewing, and this ship ran straight into an ambush. Her thoughts now on the starship, she quickly checked the handy display on the floor, keying in her thumbprint. Hull seventy percent, but the starboard crippled severely, and decks fifteen through eighteen were completely sealed off. Life support… still fully functioning.

As Ema focused her attention on the report, the German whose nametag proclaimed 'Gavin' spoke. "The crew…"

"We're fighting a losing battle," she responded. "We've held them off here, but there's a lot more on the decks above. I just hope the beacon's secure."

Gavin seemed to deliberate for a moment. "It is." He drew out a small metal contraption attached to the fitting of his armor.

"This… Why do you have it?" She didn't know if she should be incensed, or relieved.

"Captain Wright gave it to me. The krysenians have the bridge."

Ema cursed foully.

"Let us go," Gavin suggested.

_The krysenians have the bridge._ The statement echoed through her mind. "The Captain… is dead?"

"…Yes." Ema was glad the helmet hid her face. He spoke again, "Come, we must help the others."

The Captain was dead, her partner was dead, and the prisoners were likely run loose from the brig. What was the point? The pessimist in her that had arisen from years of hard training, the pessimist in her that had soon eclipsed the perpetual happiness she kept in her childhood, was now overriding her stubborn spirit. The war would be lost. Earth and all its colonies would fall to the assail of the alien league, and this legendary ship run over by the least of its warriors, the krysenians. This was an insignificant battle in the war—except that it wasn't. They had the beacon. Gavin had the beacon. And they would lose the beacon, and with it, hope. It was all too late. And these dismal thoughts led to dark places that Ema had long avoided—the slaughter of her parents on Earth, and the later disappearance of her sister on Polesia.

Gavin watched her head sink further and further down with despair, until he could wait no longer. "Captain Skye," he commanded, and she looked up. "You saved me from certain death, only to die another? Unacceptable. I have the beacon, and we will go save the ship. Every second here is a second wasted. So we will go to the upper decks, and perhaps I can get a gun like yours, and we will help the other crew members fend off the krysenians. Understood, fräulein?"

Military protocol kicked in, and she met his blue eyes with inscrutable cobalt.

"Understood, sir."

Two soldiers facing insurmountable odds? Partners, they would later learn that it was just their style.

**Potassium**

"It was murder."

"How will you prove it?"

"It was _murder_. She was suffering from renal failure, at the very last stage, and no doctor would have allowed such an intake of potassium."

"But we need decisive evidence to prove the case."

"It was murder!"

Ema and Klavier stood in the streets of Germany, with the former spitting accusations. They had arrived separately, not knowing the other would be there. Ema had come to visit Lana's friend, who had supported her in her studies in Germany while Lana was still in prison. She was old, now suffering from kidney failure—well, not now, before she had died. She had been murdered.

A silent killing, easily chalked up to accident. A crafty killer.

Klavier lay a hand on her shoulder. "I believe you. But we cannot build a case like this, even with my connections—we need more than circumstantial evidence. At the very least, we need a suspect or two, but no one has any known grudges against her."

"The jury system…"

"Not in Germany."

She cursed foully. "No doctor would have…"

"…But then it could be ruled as a suicide."

"—She would never!"

"I know! I know… but we have no proof."

It was potassium that did it, and the murderer was clever. It was potassium that had poisoned and killed, leaving no evidence behind—a simple accident. An oversight.

Sounds like the justice system, Ema thought bitterly. Poisoned and killed, always lacking the evidence, and eternally overlooking what was plainly staring them in the face.

Prosecutor and detective stood together in the snow, unmoving and cold.

**Calcium**

Golden Snackoos. Dream or reality?

Ema was about to find out. _Careful, now._ With a steady hand, she gently tipped the test tube over the chocolate, double-crunch Snackoos (limited Nickel Samurai edition)… and held her breath.

It crumbled into pieces. Again.

Why? _Why_? What kind of chemical component was she missing? Was she heading in the wrong direction entirely? Were the materials she had to work with insufficient?

The detective sighed, and ruffled back her hair, cringing slightly as she heard a shout.

"Detective Skye! Get your ass down here!"

Of course. The Chief. She hated the detective job anyway, so there was no harm in ignoring him.

Snackoos were a serious business. In Ema's (highly professional) opinion, the death (meaning experimental failure) of each Snackoo was as costly as a human life in itself (which meant she was a mass murderer, but she didn't bother about _that_). Aaaaah… she felt her thoughts balancing on an edge as thin and as sharp as a knife—one wrong move, and they could be lost _forever_, which would _doom_ the fate of all Snackoos. Humans! That was the key. And what held us together? Our muscles, our skin—our bones! _That_ was our framework, the grand design for our structure. And what strengthened our bones? Calcium!

Unbeknownst to her excited self, she was speaking aloud—not exclaiming, and not quite in a whisper, but with enough exhilaration in her voice that it carried to the man standing at the door.

The words of chiding and berating were lost on his lips, and the thoughts of forcing her to the crime scene forgotten, for now he had something to brighten his dreary day. "Ah, fräulein… It is no wonder you are in this 'hell-hole of a job' (as you say), for the obvious flaw in your deranged theory is all too clear." He was, of course, referring to her inability to qualify for forensics, having to settle for a position as a detective.

"Mr Gavin," Ema said by way of greeting, without turning her head. She had already been sufficiently irritated by the stubborn Snackoos, and with this (albeit illogical) epiphany, her mood had lifted considerably. He was _not_ going to ruin this! Calcium… It so happened that she had some milk with her (what were chocolate Snackoos without some milk?), and milk contained calcium. That's right, just dump some milk into her concoction, then spray it on the Snackoos, and even if it's unstable, at least it'll take Gavin with it. And her, she supposed.

"Heh." Klavier wondered what ridiculous ideas were running through her mind. "Is that milk I see? You are well-prepared."

_Now, how much do I need? Ah, whatever… I'll just put a drop… or ten._

"But are you prepared for the Chief's rage?" When this got no response, he said, "…Then, are you prepared for an out-of-court penalty… from _me_?"

Ema took a moment to wonder what kind of sexual harassment he could be planning, and if Mr Edgeworth could prosecute. This hesitation was all he needed. He tried snatched the can of milk (and wondered what kind of vending machines sold cans of _milk_) out of her grip, but she had resumed a pincer hold onto the can, with a murderous look that said, _don't even try_. Swiftly, she upended the milk into her concoction of glowing liquid.

Klavier took the opportunity of her pouring the milk into the bottle to seize the container itself, clutching it victoriously…

…when Ema leaped up to retrieve it, and the top of her head hit the bottom of the container…

…tipping the vat of golden substance over her head.

And a scream: "I'll get you for this, you fooooooooooooppppppp!"

:::

"Prosecutor Gavin… Detective Skye…" the judge stammered, dumbfounded. "Am I missing something here?"

Apollo was leaning on the table, torn between laughing and gaping, with Trucy giving a chuckle behind a gloved hand.

"Not at all, Your Honor," Klavier said sorely. In more ways than one.

"I know I'm not exactly up to date with these new trends… andI _have_ heard of painting one's nails," he announced, slightly proudly, and added even more smugly, "And dying one's hair. But—" And here a little note of bewilderment found its way into his voice. "—dying one's _skin_? Really?"

Apollo face-palmed, and Trucy let out a full-blown laugh.

"Nope," said Ema testily. "Not _voluntarily_, per se. A certain someone overturned a bottle full of golden dye onto me, yes."

"Oh, what a horrible accident!" the judge exclaimed. "Does that mean the same thing happened to you, Prosecutor Gavin? Though the color is rather different…"

Ema answered again. "No, Your Honor. That was intentional."

"Intentional? Curious…"

By now, Apollo had joined in with his sister's giggles.

"Shut up, Herr Forehead," Klavier said, uncharacteristically snappily. People tend to feel blue when… well, when they are blue, among other colors. That is to say, _one_ other color. "Your Honor, let us just say this is the evidence for the case I have been preparing… the charges being assault," he added with a dark look.

For on the stand was one Ema Skye, with blotches of pale gold staining her face, receiving a glare from Klavier Gavin, who seemed to have been patterned with the dark colors of blue and black.

**A/N **Leave a review on your way out! And don't forget to give me some much-needed ideas for the next chapter. The more ideas, the faster the updates. Which one did you like best?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N I'M STILL ALIVE.

And I present… the third chapter! Shoutout to **Stephen-sama **for element ideas. I know, I know, I'm late (understatement), but I told you I would be, didn't I? At this rate, though, I'll be updating once a year. Hope it doesn't come to that, but as always, rest assured that no matter what, I will finish this story… eventually.

**Scandium**

Ema enjoyed star gazing. When she was young, she used to draw out star charts and label them very precisely, and show them off to Lana. Her classmates thought it was boring. They preferred to colour over her constellations with messy crayons, so she learned not to bring them to school. On the ceiling of her room, she would carefully dot out those constellations with a sharp 2B pencil and ruler, and then she'd stick on those glow-in-the-dark stars in the right places. The night sky glowed above her sleeping head.

On another continent, Klavier enjoyed star gazing. He and his brother would lie down on picnic mats on the lawn and look up to the sky, and Klavier would make up names to fit the funny shapes his mind picked out. There was _goblin writing a book_ and _pig talking to sheep_ and the ever-mystifying _dog holding a bone in the shape of a telephone and lecturing an old woman with a top hat and juice. _After a while, Kristoph stopped joining him in these ventures, but that was okay because Klavier would draw out the new shapes he found and show him in the light of day.

Others around them didn't look up all that much to see the stars. Sometimes it was lonely. But sometimes the solitude was welcome, the kind of quiet you only get when your mind is stuffed with galaxies, and both soon learned to enjoy the company of their thoughts when the world was less than interested.

They went far from their siblings in the name of study, and there it was their thoughts that most occupied them. Few cared for the nomenclature of adenoviruses, and starry-eyed obsessions with truth and justice had, ironically enough, no place in court. They spoke and learned and grew as all do, but their own little worlds, their galaxies and stars, remained as curious and as wondrous as when they had the wisdom of wide-eyed children.

They saw different things when they looked at the sky, but they were two of the few that did look up and continued to when the world grew small.

**Titanium**

Klavier Gavin was extremely stupid. This was not new, but it was persistently annoying. Kind of like a fly that she really wanted to kill.

Those were not good thoughts to have about her boss.

Sometimes she'd have other thoughts about him, thoughts that unsettled her more than contemplating murder, but she put _those _down to lack of sleep. Lack of sleep on account of having a week and counting of overtime, simply because she was _the best detective, ja?_

She'd Googled _best ways to murder your boss_ and hoped he was tracking her searches. Her drawers were stuffed with enough Snackoos packs to last a war. She may or may not have childishly vandalised the countless autographed photos he left lying about her desk, some of which were quite mutilated.

Her cubicle resembled more of a serial killer's hideout than one of law enforcement, as did her mind.

It so happened that on the ninth day of overtime, Lana decided to stop by. It was not a good time for anybody to be in the dragon's den, especially if it was a surprise. There were two minutes of expletives and venting before Ema turned around and realised it was her sister who'd entered and not Gavin.

"I sense a storm brewing," Lana said. "Well, one that's already hit. And heralding several other storms."

Ema ran and hugged her sister. "Sorry! I thought you were someone else!"

"Yeah, I gathered that from the _glimmerous fop_, _Klavier Gavin_, _German prosecutor_, and obscenities reserved for males." She ruffled Ema's hair. "I think it's time to break out the old you-hurt-my-sister thumbscrews."

"Are those different from regular old thumbscrews?"

"They are imbued with the power of righteous familial anger, so yes."

But she'd get through it; she was strong, stronger than his steely glare and anything he could throw at her. She'd show him.

Unfortunately, _showing him _involved some form of chagrin or astonishment on his part, and he continued each day with the same sunny disposition. Like she was so _predictable_.

So Ema made it her business to shock him.

She rigged up a bucket of Snackoos to pour over his head when he entered. His only reaction was to pluck a few from his hair and munch on them.

The next day, she dressed her office in madness: a Christmas tree in the corner, periodic tables covering the walls, a life-size talking skeleton beside her desk, twelve lava lamps placed haphazardly around the room. He barely blinked when he came in.

He didn't flinch when she finished her paperwork five hours _early_, nor when she submitted the case file with the addition of vandalised and maimed photos of him worthy of a stalker (or, indeed, evidence for a case for her mental instability or intent to harm).

Her absence the next work day came and went without comment.

Dousing him in fingerprint powder had no effect. Nor did Luminol.

Her lips seemed to elicit a reaction, but she'd have to test it again just to make sure.

**Vanadium**

"I am fine. You know this. You have seen my charts, talked to the doctors…"

"But I was there. I was actually there and do you know how _red _blood can get? I didn't. Not till then."

The unexpected visit had thrown him, but it was nothing compared to her show of concern. Klavier lay in the hospital bed, feeling incredulous and touched all at once. "Well," he said wryly, "I was there too, so yes."

"Yeah. You were there, I was there, a whole bunch of police was there, and you—_you're_ the one that got hurt. What were you thinking, rushing in like that?"

"The man was about to get shot—"

"—and we had spec-ops to take care of that, and you, you and your stupid hero instinct, and—and your rashness!"

Anger. This was more familiar territory.

"You know, if you hadn't… and _I _was right there, and I could've—I should've—"

"My fault," he cut in. "I am to blame for my own injuries, as you have been so eloquently asserting. You are feeling… I suppose 'survivor's guilt' is not quite the right term, since I did survive, but…"

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, you're to blame, you big dope. Stupid pig-headed, irrational fop. Knight-in-shining-armour wannabe. Reckless dolt."

"As always, I am flattered by your assessments of me."

She leaned back in the chair. "We got him, anyway."

"Thanks in no small part to me."

"You vanadium-blooded fop."

"Dare I ask?"

"Vanadium-based blood. Found in sea squirts and ascidians. It's green. I'm insulting you by comparing you to tunicates, and also by explaining the insult."

He smiled. "I will not even pretend to know what a tunicate is."

"If it helps, they eat their own brains." She paused to see his widening eyes. "Well, in the name of scientific correctness, they _digest_ their cerebral ganglions in metamorphosis. But that isn't nearly as effective an insult."

There was a knock, and a nurse came in. "Mr Gavin? It's time for your meds."

"I do not want any."

"He needs them," Ema said. "You can't tell because he's always babbling nonsense anyway, but he does."

He glared at her. The nurse was shrugging off his protests and giving him those sleepy hospital painkillers, and he felt sleep weigh down his eyelids. "Ema, Ema, stay…" His words were slurred and he couldn't be certain if she understood or even heard them, and he knew she had to go to work, but…

When he awoke, she was not there.

**Chromium**

Klavier was in a mood. It was not a good time for anyone to be visiting him, let alone the dangerously hot-tempered Ema Skye.

And he was venting. "My brother is _innocent_," he spat. "And he was convicted by that fraud Wright."

Which got her hackles up. Whatever sympathy was in her eyes drained to zero. "Mr Wright is not a fraud!"

"And my brother is not a killer!" he shouted. "Everyone else, however, seems to think otherwise. Yourself included."

"Sometimes," she said, "you just don't know."

He didn't appear to be listening. "Wright is a fool if he thinks I will let this go, even if Kristoph is. No matter how careful, the fraudster would leave a trail."

"You're mad. No matter how much you hate him, you're mad if you think he's framing your brother. Listen to yourself!" She met his glare steadily. "Your brother is a murderer and you're excusing him."

And there was a dangerous silence. Klavier couldn't speak for the hate and disbelief that choked him. When he finally regained some sense of equilibrium, his voice was cold. "Out."

"The world isn't monochrome. Mr Wright isn't evil and you're not good, and neither is _he_. Whatever 'noble truth' you think you have is _not _the right shade." Then she swept out.

For all the fire his detective had spat, never had he imagined she could be as vindictive as this. Not since he learned what had befallen her sister. But there it was, and he couldn't help but feel betrayal rise like bile in his throat.

He threw himself back down on the chair and snatched up the phone the moment it rang. There was talking, and his brother was his brother still, taciturn and precise and matter-of-fact.

"I plead guilty because I am guilty. I murdered the traveller Shadi Smith in cold blood, and I was not careful enough to prevent my arrest."

Klavier still held the phone long after the dial tone set in.

**Manganese**

Akane didn't play well with other people. She had in school, from preschool to college, but somewhere between failing the forensics exam and discovering her boss had disbarred Phoenix Wright, she stopped playing well with others. People didn't like working with her either. She passed her days as The Grumpy Detective.

Kyouya Garyuu, on the other hand, was always besieged by people, and he welcomed them whole-heartedly. He always seemed to attract crowds wherever he went, whether they were fans of his music or fans of his work in law enforcement. Or maybe just fans of his purported good looks. In any case, he annoyed the hell out of her, and she often wasted precious karinto on him. Sometimes he said weird English phrases that she pretended to understand, when she really just wanted to scream at him that they weren't in America anymore.

"An interview." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, we're doing a special on Garyuu's, eh, alter ego. His prosecutor side, you know. And you _are _the detective assigned to him on most cases, _and _you were in on the Garyuu Wave concert…" The reporter bit down on his pen, looking speculative. "Is there something there?"

"Has the interview started already? Because I refuse."

"We're offering a rather tidy sum…"

She opened her mouth to refuse. _Hold on, Akane. Money for an interview. Money for _dirt _on Garyuu. Now _that's _an angle. _"You know what? I accept."

"Excellent! Now, work disposition? First impressions? Special skills? You keep talking and I'll get it down."

A smirk spread across her face as her mind raced for words. _Incorrigible flirt. Clumsy oaf. _But she'd have to be a little more subtle for a fanzine. "Oh, you know Kyouya-kun, always the gentleman. I hear he has," she coughed pointedly, "problems, you know, with, ah, the loneliness and… and isolation he's dug himself into."

"Oh!" The reporter was scribbling furiously. "Please, go on."

"He may need help. Ah, companionship. Affirmation. He needs to feel… loved." God knows what the fan girls deemed appropriate ways to express love, but hopefully they were legal while still being entertaining. "I hear he cries at night." _Nice touch! _"At work, well, he must work very fast since he's free almost all day. Room 1206, by the way. The security guard is almost always asleep."

"I'm sure you've gotten to know him as his colleague. Any thoughts? His likes or dislikes? Personality?"

"He loves carnations and peanuts. Especially as gifts." He was allergic to both. "If I may, could you not name me? Not even as detective. Just an anonymous co-worker."

"No problem."

"Anyway…" What else to say? Where to start? There was a goldmine just waiting to be had.

"Actually, I do have a question," the journalist said. "Could you talk about his brother's conviction? His reaction to it? Even your individual thoughts."

She froze. "That was over three months ago."

"Still, ah, juicy news."

She found herself almost hating the man. "Hm. That's what this whole thing's been about, hasn't it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that," the man said cautiously. "Just a perk."

"No comment. Get your kicks elsewhere, not that anyone in the station would say _anything_ either, so just… get out." She snatched up the pad he'd been writing on and stuffed it into her coat pocket.

**Iron**

A dark hour.

Do you know what you've done?

Taken his career. Cursed the innocent. Ruined a man's life.

Stop trundling around like you're oblivious to the damage you've caused, think you're so righteous, _because you're not_. I detest you because you are guilt and you pretend. You think you're the hero but you're the villain and you don't care to listen to me or think about it so you can continue your happy little illusion.

You struck a man and his work, struck the iron—red ochre and bone. How does it feel to take a life?

Seeking the truth? Please.

Charming and condescending, thinking yourself better, strutting on stage and arguing deaths.

You didn't know Phoenix Wright. I've seen the transcripts, watched the videos; you didn't know Phoenix Wright, except you still set him up, and then you destroyed him because you could.

It takes an iron will to withstand your intolerable presence, an everyday reminder of the destruction you wrought.

You convinced a sentence on an innocent man.

The man who saved me. Saved my sister. Saved Edgeworth. Saved countless other people, all of whom are worth more than ten times of you.

And when I first confronted you, I saw the clench of your jaw and burn in your eyes and vehemence at the notion. That first meeting, happily forgotten, was never mentioned again.

I can't forget. I begin to suspect I never will.

Because someone has to hate you. No one ever says anything, speaks ill, only bitterness at most. No justice for this world. Justice would be calling you out. Justice would be heroes winning and villains losing. Justice would be truth.

There's no truth to the Gramarye case.

I know Mr Wright will come back. He always does. But till then, till the truth, someone has to hate you.

And that's me.

**Cobalt**

Klavier called her eyes 'cobalt'. It was a nice word, one that Ema admittedly associated more with the element than a description for colour, but a nice word nonetheless. It was also a word she would not commonly use to describe her eyes; they were green, sure, but so dark or so pale—or so… muddled—that they were almost a grey. And it was something she shouldn't dwell on, because why the hell was she dwelling on something that glimmerous fop had said?

It was this description of her eyes that made Ema hesitate, unlike all the other instances of teasing that garnered a sharp retort. She thought that perhaps Klavier knew that, because he'd taken to calling out 'the detective with the cobalt eyes' when he was one of his strange moods and wanted to see her.

So now, standing in front of his desk, once again identified by her cobalt eyes, she made certain to deal back a quip. "I have a name, you know," Ema said. Not the best of comebacks, certainly one of her worst and most clichéd, but it was better than a silence. "And it has nothing to do with cobalt, or Fräulein detectives."

"I know," Klavier said, leaning back in his chair. "Ema Skye." And he smiled.

This made her hesitate too, and she was doubly loathe to dwell on this as well, whether it was her name from his lips or his smile, because both was borne of the hateful pest that was Klavier Gavin. "Yup. That's my name," she said lamely, after a long pause, in an attempt to blurt out some witty response. And failing miserably. "And—and you're named after a piano. Which is stupid." And that response was stupid too.

She was really off her game.

"Is something amiss?" Klavier questioned, no doubt because of her dumb stumble.

Ema bit her tongue to stem the flow of a number of lame comments that immediately came to mind, stuff along the _your face_ line. "What do you want?" she finally asked coolly.

"And there are a number of answers to that question," he replied lightly. "Truth. Justice. Happiness. Dinner."

"…What was that last one?" She instantly regretted taking the bait as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Dinner," he repeated, more decisively. "With you." Seeing the expression on her face, he hastily added, "For discussing the case, naturally. I imagine it would be a far more conducive environment for work-related discussions."

"In what way?"

"Er. A, um, more relaxing setting and exemplary cuisine to set it off may contribute to our, ah, productivity in solving the case."

"Uh huh," Ema said slowly, rolling her eyes. "And this is entirely work-related?"

"Again, there are a number of answers to that question. Would you prefer the answer you wish to hear or the truth?"

"Do I get a choice in the matter?"

He chuckled. "Of course you do. The real question is, would you believe me?"

"Probably not."

"So shall I answer, or should I await yours?"

"My answer of…"

"Of dinner, naturally."

"I'd say no, but I'm not sure you know the word."

"Persistence, Fräulein detective, not ignorance."

"Same difference."

"I will take that as a yes."

Ema blinked. "—Hey… _what_? How in the world is that a _yes_?" she hissed.

He gave a languid smile. "Why postpone the inevitable?"

"You cocky—"

"—on that count, you are most correct—"

"—Ugh! Could you _be_ any cruder?"

He simply waited.

"The answer is _no_. Plain and simple. Get that into your thick skull. _No_."

As she made to leave the room, he called after her. "So I will pick you up at eight, ja?"

**Nickel **

Klavier examined the nickel closely. "American currency is so weirrrrd," he said, stressing the 'r' as they did so queerly in the US. He was eight.

His brother, Kristoph, was sixteen and quite impatient. "**Hurry up. Or we'll miss the trial.**"

"**You mean **_**you'll**_** miss the trial. I'm just supposed to wait for you on the steps. For **_**three whole hours**_**!"**

"**You refused to stay put in the hotel. You insisted on coming.**"

"**But—**"

"**So it is entirely of your own doing that you are here; do not blame it on me with your tantrums.**"

Klavier smiled. "**You shall be a great lawyer.**"

Blinking at the sudden change, Kristoph led Klavier to the steps in silence. "**You may stay here or venture inside. I trust you can take care of yourself.**"

"No problem," Klavier replied, the unfamiliar English words feeling odd from his lips.

Kristoph left, and Klavier remained seated. He had seen the inside of the courthouse many times, but as a child he was always restricted to just the lobby. And he was quite sick of the lobby. So he lay back on the concrete and stared up at the blue sky, counting the clouds.

"Are you dead?" An American accent. Female voice. Young, like him. The speaker moved into view. A face to match the voice—long brown hair, pale skin, and wide greenish eyes. "Because the dead people go in bags."

She moved away so he could sit up. "I am not dead. Just waiting around."

"Me too," she said. "But you don't see me blocking everybody's way." She stuck her hand out. "I'm Ema Skye."

"Klavier Gavin." He took her hand and laid a clumsy kiss on it as he had seen his brother do once before. Not in America, though, so perhaps he had misstepped in his gesture.

"That's not how you greet people," Ema said matter-of-factly, withdrawing her hand and examining it, as though checking for bite marks. "You're supposed to shake my hand."

"Entschuldigung."

"Um…"

"Sorry," Klavier amended, then added in explanation, "I am from Germany and have not mastered the English language. It just… slips out."

"That's okay. Pretty cool. My sis studied in Germany. She's a prosecutor."

Something clicked. "Lana Skye?"

"Yeah, how d'you know?" Her eyes lit up, pleased that he knew Lana.

"My brother will be against her in court."

"Kristoph Gavin!"

He nodded.

Ema smirked. "He is _so _gonna get his butt kicked."

"Will not! My brother is very clever."

"Yeah? Well, Lana is way smarter than everybody I know. Except when I grow up," she added. "Then I'll be as smart as her."

Sufficiently distracted, Klavier's thoughts turned from their siblings to Ema herself. "You want to be a lawyer?"

"Nope. A forensic scientist."

"A what?"

Ema gave a heavy sigh, as though impatient with his slowness. "A _forensic scientist_. They study dead bodies and stuff."

"Oh. That sounds useful for the lawyers."

She smiled. "Yeah, way important. So how 'bout you?"

Klavier looked up at the sky. "Perhaps a lawyer of some kind. I am not certain."

"Maybe we can work together! If you, y'know, become a prosecutor like Edgeworth—he's from Germany too, you know?"

Seeing her wide grin, Klavier couldn't help but beam back. "Yes. That would be nice."

_Very nice indeed_, he thought, and shook her hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're supposed to say that at the start."

"I forgot."

A thought struck Ema. "You aren't going back to Germany, right? You're here for good?"

"I am… unsure," Klavier replied slowly. "My brother has not decided. He has many options."

"Then you need a memento."

"I am not familiar with that word…"

"Something to remember me by. So we don't forget."

He liked the sound of that. "Do you have anything with you now?"

"Um… no." Her face fell. "…Wait! I got it. Here."

She pressed something into his hand—a coin. A nickel. "This is very easy to misplace," he mused.

"Nope," she said, looking proud. "Look at the date. Nineteen seventy-three. You won't find a nickel that old lying around. Anyway, it's the best I got right now."

"Thank you." He pocketed it with a smile. "But I have nothing to give you."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll remember you for sure."

**Copper**

When Ema arrived at the crime scene, she knew something was very wrong.

The lights were on, for one thing. And the caution tape was broken. There was definitely no covertness in trying in break in.

Her suspicions were confirmed, then. Feeling her pulse quicken, she moved as silently as she could around the warehouse, trying to find whoever had broken in.

A shuddering gasp drew her attention, and she walked quickly but quietly towards the noise, drawing her gun as she did so.

It was Gavin.

He was lying on the floor with blood pooling around him, the sickly smell of copper calling out to her as she ran towards him.

"Gavin! What… The guy who did this to you, is he still here?"

Gavin shook his head ever so slightly as Ema breathed a sigh of relief and put away her gun.

"Okay, just hold on, keep breathing…" She whipped out her cell phone, dialling for backup and an ambulance, and then turned back to Gavin. He had a gaping bloody wound in his abdomen, and a large bruise on his forehead. "Nothing broken," she said, as clinically as she could. "Just… stay awake. Stay awake and… listen to my voice, just till the ambulance arrives. You're gonna make it. The ambulance is coming. It's… pretty severe, but not fatal."

His eyes were focused on her face as he took quick shallow breaths.

"I… I don't know what to do," she whispered, and then widened her eyes when she realized she said it out loud. _Way to boost morale, Ema._ The cold fear that she'd tried to control seemed to be set loose upon her vocalisation, making her body tremble.

Klavier said something, very softly, very weakly, and suddenly, Ema was acutely aware of the overwhelming scent of copper in the air. "Don't speak," she said harshly. "Save your energy." She took his hand in hers. _Human touch is good, right? Physical comfort. Oh god, I really don't know what to do._

She strained her ears for a siren, be it from an ambulance or the police, anything to indicate that help may be arriving soon. But the only things she could hear were her racing heart and his ragged breaths.

"What were you doing out here this late?" she muttered as she put pressure on the wound. "No, don't answer that. I'll just monologue away." She thought she saw a faint smile on his face. "The trial's tomorrow. If you needed some last minute investigating, you could have asked someone to help you at least. This place is huge. Unless someone called you out here, like me. There was a tip-off," she explained. "Mr Anonymous said something would be going down here tonight. Guess I was as idiotic as you, not bringing backup and all. Pot, kettle." Her voice shook as she rambled on.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the blood. Seeing Klavier lying spread-eagled on the floor, life draining away from a hole on his side… it was a far cry from the cocky self-assured prosecutor she had grown used to. _Of course it's different! He was just _shot_, Ema. By a mystery someone who's still out there, and oh god, where's the ambulance? Why didn't I bring my med kit?_

Then she heard the sirens, the sounds of quick running steps and shouts as help arrived. Much more than she expected, but then, she should have expected such a crowd; it was Klavier Gavin, after all.

The man—a paramedic—was saying something to her, and she realized she was still holding Gavin's hand, still hovering over his body as though to protect him. Dazedly, she backed away, pulling her hand from his with a little difficulty as he tried to hang on. She knelt there as Klavier was put away on a stretcher, now at the mercy of the capable med team. She felt dizzy, unsure if she'd be able to keep her balance if she stood. The pool of blood was slick under her hands, staining her clothes and skin.

And everywhere, thick and sticky, hung the smell of copper.

**Zinc**

"No bullet. No exit wound," Ema muttered as she sifted through case file. "What the hell? Everyone related to the Woods case has airtight alibis—I should check those out anyway, but I don't expect to find much…"

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, pressing her eyes shut. Who shot Gavin? Why were they in the warehouse? _How_ did they shoot him?

She looked over Gavin's testimony once more. Masked man, medium build, and entirely unfamiliar. Didn't speak; just shot several bullets in quick succession before running away. A new player had come to town. Ema didn't like the sound of that. Another troublemaker stirring up the Woods case, unless he was somehow unrelated…

Gavin's medical report was equally, if not more, mystifying. No bullets or shrapnel had been found in his body, nor were there any exit wounds. Missing bullets, plural. He had an unexplained bout of nausea, fever, and urinary retention that the doctors put down to trauma and stress. Ema was more sceptical. Something weird was going on here, something was missing… and that meant someone was lying. At least one medical examiner was omitting crucial information, she was sure. It wasn't just an impossible case—there was a missing variable.

Of course, she didn't want to arouse suspicion when she had no hard evidence. No, she'd have to go about this more subtly if she were to trap the mystery gunman and his accomplices. _Subtlety. Not exactly my forte. _

So she ran the tests herself. Sent a reliable detective to get some blood from Gavin and ran the tests herself.

There.

It was fading quickly, but it was there, and it was something to build a theory on.

"Zinc," she whispered to herself, her mind jumping from end to end. "Unusually high levels of zinc—zinc poisoning—hence the other symptoms, the headaches, the nausea, that were put under trauma, otherwise unrelated to the shooting—except it is, because someone took the time to change the reports, a plant faked the results to say nothing was wrong—_zinc_. Someone gave him zinc pills? After the shooting? Slipped it into his meals before? No, stupid. That's…" _Wait a minute. _"Otherwise unrelated to the shooting… it's the opposite. The zinc was _because_ of the shooting, somehow, linked to the missing bullets, the incomplete scans, the…"

_Klavier was shot in the stomach. Multiple bullet wounds, but zero bullets. Remarkably little damage._

"I got it."

"Got what, Fräulein?"

Ema spun around, eyes wide, and saw Klavier standing right behind her. "Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

He shrugged. "I heal quickly. The damage was mostly external, in any case."

"True… You're not in any danger. Not from the wounds. It failed. A failed experiment. Risky, but he had nothing else to use."

Klavier's face was a picture of confusion. "What?"

"I know how they shot you. But we can't tell anyone yet—there's someone corrupt—no, more than one someone. Someone botched up your results, wanting to keep the last piece hidden."

"My lips are sealed."

"Zinc bullets. They aren't strong enough to pierce through your back, so no exit wound. They dissolved in stomach acid. It was a fragmenting round. Our mystery man meant to kill you either with the bleed-out or zinc poisoning. He had no choice but to shoot you with the test gun because he was caught by surprise. He wasn't packing. Whoever tipped you and me off is someone else."

A smirk spread over Klavier's face. "Genius," he said. "You are a genius. I could kiss you for that."

She immediately took a step back, feeling the desk against her back.

His smirk grew wider. "No need for skittishness, Fräulein detective."

"I wasn't being skittish!" she protested, glaring. "It's just… I presented the scientific facts and my utter genius, and you have to twist it into… bleh!"

"It is merely an expression, you realize. If I had been unable to quash my impulse to kiss you, rest assured you would know."

_Don't ask why, Ema. Curiosity killed the cat. _"Why?" she blurted out, then inwardly cursed herself. _Now is the time to run away. And for God's sake, face, stop flushing! _

He took a step towards her. Ema stood her ground (not that she had any other choice with the desk behind her) with a glare. He planted his right hand on the table and leaned close to her face. She stayed stock still.

And he abruptly backed away, turning around and leaving. "Good work."

Ema could only stand and watch with her mouth hanging open, feeling bereft and not a little short of breath.

A/N The whole zinc bullet thing is purely conjecture, which I got from a Mythbusters message board. You can search it up with 'magic zinc bullet'. I feel Manganese needs some explanation: I used Akane and Kyouya, the Japanese names for Ema and Klavier, because, y'know, manga. Klavier is from the US in the Jap version, and Snackoos are karinto, an actual Japanese snack. Drop a review on your way out! Give me suggestions for the next ten elements. 

So. Would you prefer if I did chapters of five elements instead of ten? They'd get out _a lot_ faster.


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